


The Forever War

by Zalphon



Category: Arphasia's Curse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalphon/pseuds/Zalphon
Summary: A short story about one soldier's experience in the Forever War.





	The Forever War

**The Forever War**

Gregor laid there in still silence with the body of a man he barely knew on top of him.  He closed his eyes and held his breath as he heard the crunch of frozen leaves beneath the thick-soled boots of the men marching past him looking for survivors of the most recent skirmish.  His heart was pounding but he knew if he made so much as a sound he would be another casualty so he simply did his best to play dead—a skill he had learned to do well as a kid.  Good thing too, if he hadn’t, he’d have died a long time ago.

 

“I see one, Sergeant, over there,” one of the men pointed away from Gregor’s direction.  He knew who it was.  It was Wickett.  He always liked Wickett, even if Wickett was a cocky bastard.

 

“Handle it.”  The Sergeant himself wasn’t moving much at all; he was just surveying the area and periodically tapping his cigarette in the air to knock off the growing body of ash attached to the end of it.  He didn’t need to move anyways.  The soldier who saw Wickett had darted over there and held his sword ready to do the coup de grace.

 

Gregor could hear Wickett’s hoarse pleas for mercy, but he also heard the weak gasp as the soldier certainly finished the job.  Gregor winced, even if he wished he hadn’t.  Wickett didn’t deserve to die, not like that.  Not like that at all.  Wickett was just in the wrong place at the wrong time when Lord Spruce involuntarily enlisted the lot of the people of Harrow to fight against Lord Redding for the alleged kidnapping of his daughter.  Gregor never really knew Anastasia Spruce, nor did he ever really want to, but here he was—hiding beneath the body of a man he barely knew because of a war he never wanted to be involved in.  He hated Spruce.  He hated Redding.  But most of all, he hated this war.  He just wanted it to be over.  He wanted to stop being afraid.  He just wanted to feel safe again.  Like everything would be okay.  But it wouldn’t be okay, because nobody was going to make it out of this war alive.  Wickett was supposed to; he had a wife and a little girl at home, but that didn’t matter.  What did Gregor have?  Nothing.  If the White Raven had taken Wickett, a man who never hurt a fly, die, then what hope did he have?

 

Gregor’s thoughts went in that loop over and over and every time, he couldn’t help but stumble over the reality that he was probably going to die out here in a war he wanted nothing to do with.  He felt the tears burning his eyes, but he refused to open them and let loose even one that could reflect the light. 

 

After what felt like an eternity, the Sergeant dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot.  “Let’s move.  We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, gentlemen, and we need to be back before dark.”  Gregor waited for a few minutes for them to march away before he slowly pushed the man off of him.  Dark.  Dark was coming and with dark would come the Blood Rain. 

 

The breeze was starting to take a chill and Gregor knew that he had no choice but to find shelter, but where?  He looked around and while the Killing Fields were littered with rubble and debris, there were no houses, no caves, just open meadow until the tree line into Blackwood, but nobody ever made it back from Blackwood.  Nobody. 

 

Gregor looked around and realized that he was miles from camp and that the nearest outpost would take longer than he had.  It was with the bleak reality ahead of him that he sprinted into the tree line of twisted, gnarled trees.  The moment he stepped foot beyond it, his heart constricted so tight that he doubled over in agony grasping at his chest, but just like that, the pain had dulled to a mere ache.  He scrambled to his feet and ran into the woods as fast as he could in search of anything he could find that would keep him safe for the night, but it seemed the further he got—the more it hurt until he was once again doubled over, but this time it did not fade in the blink of an eye.  No this time it stayed until he stepped back towards the Killing Fields at which point the pain dulled ever so slightly. 

 

“Damn it,” Gregor muttered under his breath. “Is there no salvation from that godforsaken hell?”  He knew the answer to that, even if he wished he didn’t. 

 

He stumbled back towards the Killing Fields and with every step, the pain lessened until he saw a cave.  Thank the Red Mother.  He had found his shelter from the Blood Rain, even if it meant his heart aching throughout the night.  That was a small price to pay to avoid being caught in the rain.  A small price indeed.

 

Gregor reached into his pack and pulled out what little bit of rations he had left.  A small lump of hard cheese and a rat-nibbled half-loaf of bread, but it would do, if only because he had nothing else.  It wasn’t a good meal, but it was enough to quiet his growling stomach as he laid against the cave wall in quiet silence.  He was at peace.

 

Drip.

 

He moved away from the dripping.  It was probably just water, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

 

Drip.

 

Drip.

 

The dripping grew faster.

 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

 

Gregor took a deep breath and held his nose and chin in his hands as he whispered a prayer to the Red Mother.  He prayed the dripping not get any worse, but he felt it.  He felt that it would.  He knew it and he stepped even further away from the drip-spot that had now become a steady stream of blood through the top of the cave.

 

Then in a moment, a cascade of red broke through the top of the cave and onto Gregor.  His screams echoed as it ate through his skin like acid and as his flesh slid from the bones.  He only screamed for a few moments, but it felt like an eternity.

 

* * *

 

Gregor woke up in the Barracks.  The same barracks he always woke up in with a pounding headache from the drinking the night before.  He looked around and saw all the usual suspects doing what they usually did.  Thompson was exercising.  Smith was reading.  And in the corner, he saw Wickett and Lye playing cards.  Wickett noticed and gave him a wink.  Lord Spruce didn’t pay enough for Wickett to support his family, so Wickett made what else he needed as a card shark.  Most people knew better, but not Lye.  Lye was always down to play Wickett and Wickett was always happy to take his money.

 

Gregor couldn’t help but smile at the group he was with.  He hated this war.  He hated fighting.  He hated the constant fear.  But he loved the people he knew.  Especially Wickett.  Wickett always knew just what to say when he was feeling down, even if right now he was about to drop the King of Courts on poor Lye and take the sizeable jackpot that had grown between them. 

 

But then the door burst open.  Sergeant Frost stood in the doorway and looked at us, “Get ready, gentlemen.  We’ve got business to handle.”

 

“Like what, Sarge?” Wickett said, looking up from his cards for just a moment.

 

“Captain says we’re launching an offensive on those Redcloak bastards.  Be ready in fifteen.  We’re marching through the Killing Fields to New Haven and we’re going to finally end this war once and for all.”

 

All the men in the room were starting to grin, except Gregor.  Gregor would be happy when it was finally over, but not a moment before. “Why hot damn, Lye,” Wickett said as he threw his cards on the table. “This might be the last time I get to take your money.  Don’t worry though—I’ll still be happy to do it after this is over.”

 

“You’re on Wickett, but lemme tell you,” he said. “You’ll be calling me Sir Lye after I personally deliver the killing blow to Lord Redding.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, and pretty pink pigs are gonna fly out of my ass too, Lye.” 

 

The men got ready and gradually marched out for formation, except for Gregor.  Gregor was suited up and ready, but he sat on his bunk in silence.  “Come on,” Wickett said. “This is it, Sampson; we do this and we’re done.  It’s all over!”

 

“I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

 

“Listen, Sampson,” Wickett said putting an arm around Gregor’s shoulder. “I promise you that you’ll make it out of there.  Even if it means I’ve gotta save your sorry ass myself, y’hear?”

 

Gregor feigned a weak smile for Wickett, but he still wasn’t entirely reassured.  But it didn’t really matter.  He had to get up and go out there, bad feeling or not.  He just hoped it would be quick.  And then it would all be over.  Finally, it would all over.


End file.
